


Grand Conspiracy

by OldManWriter



Series: The Strange Affairs of a Witcher [1]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Detectives, Alternate Universe - Noir, F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:59:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25070518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OldManWriter/pseuds/OldManWriter
Summary: Witcher stories in a noir setting. There will a few original stories, but most of them will be the retelling of the books and the games in a noir setting.
Relationships: Ciri/Mistle, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Shani, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Triss Merigold, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Series: The Strange Affairs of a Witcher [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1815673
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	Grand Conspiracy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sayanaran](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sayanaran/gifts).



It was October 7th. I was done putting the iron to the Three Jackdaws’ case. I kicked back and rested my feet on my desk, looking around the dreary, damped, dark, and dead room that I call home. The ceiling fan was making its creaking noise as usual. I lit my cigar and puffed it; I distinctly remember it being Cuban.

It was evening; the air was red, when my secretary walked in and said, “Mista Rivia, ya have a visitor.”

Triss was a fine little dame, with cherry lips and red hair, or maybe chestnut; I never could tell the difference. I knocked a drop of bourbon and said, “Let him in.” I wonder what this one was going to be. A cheating son of bitch? A cheating whore? A debt? Lost puppy?

The girl who walked in looked a bit barmy. Her hair was white, her eyes snappy green, and clammed. There was a scar on her left cheek. She was barely 18, yet she was tall and shapely. She was wearing a white fur coat with a big round white hat, and white gloves. There was a certain elegance to her movement.

“Are you Geralt?” she was trying to hide her nervousness behind confidence, “Geralt of Rivia?”

“I suppose,” I said.

“I hear you’re a dick,” the ashen haired woman said.

“Yeah,” I said passively.

“I’m sure you know Calanthe was offed a few days ago.”

“Yeah,”

“I want the son of bitch who did it.”

I felt like a patsy listening to her; I had run-ins with the Cintra family before. They didn’t like me; I shared the sentiment. Was this a set up?

“Tell me, baby,” I said, “Why do you want this ‘son of bitch’?”

The girl reached into her purse and pulled out a ring, and threw it at me. It was a silver ring with two lionheads on it and a big green jewel in the middle, the Cintra’s family ring.

“Cause the son of bitch killed my grandmother,” the girl raised her voice.

I couldn’t fucking believe it. Without the ring, I would’ve chugged it to some tosh, but the ring was damning evidence.

“I could have your fucking head on my piano if I wanted to,” the girl began, “knowing your run-ins with my family, I probably should, but I’m letting you save your ass. Find out who did her in, and I’ll save your hide.”

As she got up to leave, she looked into my eyes and said, “I’ll add a small bonus if you bring in the bastard alive.”

She then looked at my liquor and said, “Don’t forget to finish your tiger milk.”

No matter how I folded it, I was fucked. Either I say “no” and let her put me in a Chicago overcoat, or I find the bastard who is probably a member of another family.

It was around eight when I got into my CX and drove to Romarin et Thym; usually, it was filled with weak sisters and wankers and pissants, but most importantly, _she_ was there. She had helped me clean some filth and scum off of the streets. Like me, she too had abilities that the world wasn’t ready to know about yet. She is quiet the fighter, for a French dame.

When I arrived at Romarin et Thym, they didn’t let me see her, said she had an act, so I sat down and ordered Schnapps and watched the show. The room drowned in silence as the dame appeared on the stage.

As usual, she was wearing a long black velvet dress with the front cut low. Her black evening gloves were hiding her hands and forearms. Her choker was around her long neck as usual. Her hair was resting on her naked shoulders from both sides in curls. Her velvet eyes knew how to pierce a man’s soul and ensnare it. Her menacing presence didn’t match the soft tune she was singing; I hear men like that, a soft woman who can be dangerous. Her body moved slowly and ravishingly as she sang. On occasion, she grabbed the microphone and held her lips close to it. Although her nose was a bit too long, her right shoulder slightly higher than the left one, and her lips a bit too narrow, she knew how to move her body.

“And I always sleep with my guns when you’re gone,” she winked at me as she sang the words.

I had heard this tune so many times that I could sing it along with her. She was the only light in my shit-filled life; she was the only one who stayed even when I was on the nut.

“There’s a big black crow sitting on my window ledge,” she kept singing.

When she finished the song, she came and sat at my table, opposite to me. The bartender brought her a glass of red wine and a long cigarette holder with a white cigarette in it; I recon it was Marlboro.

“What brings you here, detective?” she puffed her smoke in my face.

“I need your help,” I said knowing what she would say.

“The glorious Geralt of Rivia needs my help?” She laughed at my face, “Now, this is rich.”

“I’m serious, Yen. I-”

“Don’t call me that,” her laughter turned into anger, “Only my friends get to call me that.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m sure you are,” She sounded sarcastic, “What do you need help with anyways?”

“A girl came to see me today, barely 18.”

“That explains Triss; you like them young.”

“That’s not what I meant, Yen,” I realised my mistake, “Yennefer.”

“What _did_ you mean?”

“Her grandmother was murdered, and she wants me to find the one who did her in,” I leaned forwards, so my face was closer to hers and whispered, “She is Calanthe’s grandkid.”

“You’re knee deep in shit then, detective,” she said as she sipped her wine.

“That’s why I need to find the guy who did it.”

“And if you fail?”

“I’ll get the big sleep.”

She tried to hide it, but she seemed concerned. Her eyes twitched; for a moment, her cold gaze disappeared, as she grinned her teeth. She puffed out her smoke slowly and methodically.

“Can’t you take a bunk?” she asked.

“No, I’m stuck,” I said, “No matter where I go, the Cintra can find me.”

“It’s an inside job.”

“How can you tell?”

“The Cintra are a strong family; if they wanted to find the murderer, they could.”

“The fact that the girl is looking for the murderer on her own means that they don’t want him to be found.” I finished her thought.

“Exactly,” she said.

“That still leaves one thing,” I said, “who in the Cintra family would want Calanthe dead?”

“Pavetta?” She asked.

“I doubt it. Calanthe was old; all Pavetta needed was to wait a few years, and she would be the head of the family. Whoever did it wanted Calanthe dead right now.”

“Wait here,” she said, “I’m gunna go change. I know someone who can help; we’ll go to him together.”

“Fine,” I said lighting my Cuban.

A minute later, I heard a Chicago lightning. I ran as fast as I could. As I was running, I heard a few more gunshots. When I entered her room, she was in her lingerie; her right arm was bleeding. There was a stiff on the floor with bullet holes all over it.

“You alright?” I asked as I reached out to grab Yennefer’s arm.

“Don’t touch me,” she said as she pulled away, “I’ll be fine; his knife just scratched me.”

I knelt down and looked at the corpse; he was middle-aged, no facial hair, right eye blinded, brown trench coat, white shirt, bald.

I checked his pockets, a wallet. There was a picture of Yennefer, a piece of paper, and a card.

“You know him?” Yen asked.

“Yes,” I replied, “He’s one of Bonhart’s people.”


End file.
